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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911817">You Wanted To Fight For A Cause (Then Go Out and Fall In Love)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keshna13/pseuds/Keshna13'>Keshna13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Bellamy's a pain in the ass (but a hot pain in the ass), Clarke needs to live a little, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, I haven't been allowed outside in months and this is how I'm coping, Literally everything is sunny and nice and beautiful, Lots of friendship times because I need it, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, Wells just keeps spilling food on himself and that's his only character trait idc it's cute, literally no angst, pure fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:40:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keshna13/pseuds/Keshna13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultimately it was his mouth that was her undoing, full lips shelving slightly over his teeth, the outline marked enough that it seemed as though God had drawn him with a sardonic smirk in mind. The single divot in his chin reminded her of a sculptor who might use their thumb to press an artist’s kiss to their masterpiece. </p><p>But then he spoke, and all the stars fell from her eyes. </p><p>******</p><p>Basically Clarke enrols in DC University and finds herself tested not only by mandatory attendance in college clubs, but also by useless boys who have useless curly hair and useless big brown eyes and useless muscular arms and oops she might have a crush on Bellamy Blake, which is inconvenient because Bellamy Blake is the biggest pain in her ass since the invention of extroverts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Octavia Blake/Lincoln</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gardening and Art</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've been in quarantine since March and I'm losing the will to live so I'm just gonna write a beautiful little summer fic about happiness and rainbows and forget that the last time I had brunch was literally seven months ago. </p><p>The title is from 'Let Me Down Easy' by Gang of Youths, thoroughly recommend a listen. Very therapeutic and very good to listen to while dancing in the shower because you can't dance in the club ;(</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t like Clarke wanted to stay in the dorms in her first year of college – she had never planned to go to college out of state. There were plenty of colleges to choose from within driving distance of her house. But here she was, enrolled in DC University, two states and seven hours over. This had not been the plan. No, she’d been forced out of her own home by her mother. Or more specifically, her mother’s new boyfriend.</p><p>“I don’t understand Clarke, Marcus is a perfectly nice man – a lovely, honourable man, in fact.” Abby said as she drove Clarke to the residential campus. It was spring, the leaves just beginning to unfurl, the flowers in their prime. Clarke felt robbed of her own house, and garden. Particularly her garden.</p><p>“Mom I just don’t think its in the cards that we’re going to be able to share a house together with your boyfriend.” Clarke supposed she’d led a sheltered existence. It had been her and her mum for years now. After her father had died, Clarke hadn’t been subjected to an endless round of unsuitable men traipsing through her house – in fact, Marcus was the only man that Abby had expressed any interest in since Jake’s death. Maybe Clarke had gotten too used to living virtually solo while Abby dealt with her grief by taking on as much work as possible. Whatever the reason, the moment Marcus moved in, Clarke knew she had to move out.</p><p>“That’s ridiculous and you know it-,” Abby cut off to swear at a passing pedestrian with headphones in and Clarke was treated to a ten-minute lecture on being alert while travelling. By the time Abby remembered what they were arguing about Clarke could see the buildings of DC University in the distance.</p><p>“The fact is Mom; I’m used to being by myself and he’s used to company. I’m smothered by him all the time and honestly, I don’t want to get in the way of your happiness. I’m not disputing the fact that he seems like a decent human, I just can’t deal with him as a <em>person</em>.” Clarke felt rather proud of herself. She was making a perfectly logical choice. The right choice, in fact. And she was being mature and adult about the whole situation. Shooting a sideways glance at her mother informed her that they were not in agreement, but to her surprise Abby let it go. Or that may have been because whatever she was about to say got forgotten in the chaos that greeted them.</p><p>As soon as they drove through the gates of DCU Residential Clarke was ready to tell Abby to make a U-Turn and get the hell out. It seemed like a brand of Clarke’s personal nightmare. The music that was pumping out of metre high speakers stationed around the quad courtyard was so loud that Clarke could see the GPS on the dash bounce with the beat. What seemed like hundreds of people were sprinting around decked in DCU colours and not much else and the assistants with trolleys were employing police brutality levels of violence to get through the mosh of kids. There was toilet paper strewn from the oak trees and a group of girls sporting war paint and brightly coloured water guns were wreaking havoc on the incoming students and their parents. A screaming lady with a clipboard and a megaphone was attempting to direct traffic and as Clarke and Abby came to a complete stop behind a large minivan, both shocked into silence, a group of security guards came lumbering through the stationary cars in an effort to reach what looked like the ringleaders of the whole operation – three boys with DCU flags tied around their necks like some sort of bizarre super hero trio, standing on two tables and bombing the crowd with buckets of flour and water balloons.</p><p>Clarke looked at Abby and saw her horrified expression mirrored, to her intense relief. Clarke had been campaigning for her mother to put her up in a house in the suburbs surrounding DCU but Abby had maintained that if her daughter wanted so badly to live out of home for her degree, she should get the full experience. Clarke privately thought this was her mother’s not so subtle attempt to punish her for her aversion to Marcus’ company. But looking at the unholy shitstorm brewing around them, Clarke felt like now was the time to remind her mother of the other options.</p><p>“Mom they have open house visits all today and tomorrow for the off-campus residences.” Abby was surveying the wreckage, and didn’t answer, too focused on watching the three boys get body slammed to the ground by the security guards, all of them laughing gleefully.</p><p>Abby knew her daughter. She knew how important order had become in her life and how Clarke had come to expect a certain degree of comfort and privacy. She’d been hoping that Marcus would have infected Clarke with some degree of enjoyment in events outside the lives of her plants and her paintings. The boys were led away to cheers from their fellow comrades, the girls with the water guns forming a mock salute.</p><p>“Mom, come on this is ridiculous. I can’t get any work done in this sort of environment; I can’t be at home – the only sensible option is a house off campus.” Clarke was panicking. Her mother didn’t seem as fazed as she was initially and the idea of spending a year in this hell was beginning to make Clarke feel light headed. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as Abby started the car and began driving forward, the crowd light enough for the line of traffic to move. The music was cut off abruptly and the lady with the megaphone had downgraded her screaming a couple of octaves, her face beginning to return to a normal, human colour.</p><p>Clarke’s sense of relief was extinguished when Abby rolled down her window at the invitation of one of the trolley attendants who looked apprehensive, probably hoping he wouldn’t be yelled at for the piss poor presentation of his fellow students.</p><p>“Hi I’m with Clarke Griffin, we’re looking to get her settled.”</p><p>The attendant, whose name was Wells, going by his badge, stared at Abby for a full minute and then flipped through his clipboard, looking so relieved Clarke felt cheated.</p><p>Abby turned back to her daughter.</p><p>“You told me you wanted to get out of the house Clarke, and I think it will be good for you to be around some people your age.” She turned to answer a question from Wells and Clarke worked hard on controlling her flaring temper.</p><p>“Mom…this isn’t the right space for me.”</p><p>Abby smiled.</p><p>“Nonsense baby, this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.”</p><p> </p><p>*                     *                             *</p><p> </p><p>It had been a month from outer space. Clarke had never been around so many loud and obnoxious teenagers before and it was beginning to take its toll. Sitting somewhere around genius level, she’d always felt like being around other people was a waste of time because either she didn’t understand them or they didn’t understand her. Usually both.</p><p>At school, this issue had been dealt with by forming a close friendship with the team of librarians, who let her eat lunch with them and stack books during free periods, and the opportunity to opt out of many extra-curricular activities based on the fact that Clarke had memorised her mother’s signature at six years old and had enough balls to pull off anything if it meant less participation.</p><p>College was a different beast. DCU was a university for the gifted, so Clarke wasn’t as academically special as she would have liked. Her classes were challenging but not alarmingly so, and the teachers were nice. The dorms had high level facilities and she didn’t have to share a room if she didn’t want to, courtesy of Abby having relented when faced with her daughter’s wide-eyed panic and upgrading her to a private room.</p><p>The problem was the people. DCU was a small university, so there were only three dorm buildings and the buildings seemed to have replaced the Greek system. The dorm Clarke was in was affectionately dubbed Dropship, courtesy of the fact that most of the kids living there seemed to be from out of state. The dorm next to Dropship, and further down towards the river, was called the Ark because of ritual flooding caused alternatively by the weather and an unusually high amount of fire alarms being pulled throughout the year. Clarke had worked out this was where two of the boys responsible for the water fight lived. And then at the end, bracketing campus centre and the beginning of the rolling hills towards the wilderness, there was TonDC, the oldest and most damaged building, named because it was missing half of the location sign nailed above the doors.</p><p>Wells lived in Dropship and he was the only person who seemed to have an interest in Clarke, which surprised her originally but had since become a godsend.</p><p>“They have a gardening club you could join.” They were on the Quad after Monday classes, sharing a packet of Pringles and watching a group of TonDC dormers play soccer with a tennis ball.</p><p>“I don’t want to join a club.” Clarke was sulking. Her career advisor had told her that morning that she was required to participate in activities outside of academia as it was part of DCU’s core foundation to raise students with well rounded educations. Clarke thought it was a bunch of bullshit.</p><p>“It’s not that bad you know. Getting to meet new people. They won’t bite.”</p><p>“I’ve met new people. You’re a new person.” Wells, busy shoving as many Pringles into his mouth as physically possible, replied with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“Besides, these guys all know eachother. They’re all from around here.” This was met with a sceptical stare from Wells, who nodded to Dropship, bits of Pringle falling from his mouth.</p><p>“Yeah but, I don’t know…kids from out of state aren’t here to make friends, they just want to do well, right?”</p><p>“You’re forgetting everyone isn’t you dude.” Wells dissolved into a coughing fit after this ground breaking contribution and Clarke elected to ignore him, instead focusing on the TonDC soccer game. They were an odd bunch of kids, one of them running around with a pair of steampunk goggles stuck to his forehead, another vibrant dark-haired girl who Clarke couldn’t help admiring tackling a veritable giant of a man with a mess of tattoos to the ground with ferocious skill.</p><p>“It’s fine. I’ve made friends with you and I don’t need to join a club because I’ll just impress them with my GPA and then they’ll shut up.” Wells emerged from his brief brush with death with an irritated glare at the Pringles sleeve, and snorted.</p><p>“Yeah see how well that works for you.” He laughed suddenly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Oh nothing. Just you haven’t met Bellamy Blake, have you?”</p><p>“Who’s Bellamy Blake?”</p><p>“Someone who won’t be impressed with your GPA.”</p><p> </p><p>*             *             *             *            </p><p>Clarke met Bellamy Blake at the end of her second month at DCU. To say she’d settled in would be an overstatement, but she had found some kind of niche with Wells, who had, against her will, introduced her to some of his friends. Harper was a little bit like Clarke, in that she was quiet and driven, but she had the same attitude to Clarke’s indifference to DCU life as Wells had and Clarke was beginning to wonder if there was an underground cult that existed to coerce people into university participation. Niylah was also quiet, but she had a rich belly laugh and a wicked sense of humour that Clarke couldn’t help but appreciate. Monty was a drifter, someone who was usually surrounded by people but who somehow always returned to their little group and would find at least one night a week to hang out and watch bad action films in Clarke’s room with pizza and Niylah’s continued and failed attempts at various arts and crafts.</p><p>So Clarke was relaxing, at least a little. And it seemed that she’d avoided most of the hype of joining up to clubs and going to the various social events that seemed to litter the residential calendar. But she’d heard of Bellamy Blake through the grapevine. He was one of the three boys from the water fight, and his reputation of pranking and various ridiculous behaviour preceded him.</p><p>“So why don’t they kick him out then?”</p><p>The second remake of Conan the Barbarian was on and Niylah was sipping her coke with a straw because she’d managed to tangle her fingers so badly while finger knitting that they were now rendered useless. Harper was reviewing her essay due in two weeks and Monty was trolling people in the comments of FailArmy videos.</p><p>“Because he’s a bonafide genius.” Wells was the only one who was actually paying attention to the movie, but he was still finding time to decorate his homemade pizza with the precision of a cardiothoracic surgeon.</p><p>“But isn’t everyone?” Clarke received a you’re-a-dumbass stare from Monty. Even Harper looked up.</p><p>“Nah Clarke, this dude could literally set fire to the dorms and they’d still welcome him back with open arms. He’s done more for this college than anyone.”</p><p>Clarke frowned, trying to grasp the concept of a university that would actually want to keep around a modern reincarnation of Puck.</p><p>“But he sounds like a dickhead?”</p><p>Niylah laughed.</p><p>“A bigger dickhead could not be found on this side of Planet Earth dude. His ego is so big I actually don’t know how he lives on the second storey of this building and we’re still standing, legit.”</p><p>Clarke huffed, frustrated.</p><p>“So he’s a dickhead genius with a massive ego who does a lot for DCU. I don’t get it.”</p><p>“You have to meet him to understand dude. He’s a fucking enigma.” Monty considered his laptop screen. “Actually you probably still won’t understand when you meet him. He doesn’t come off well.”</p><p>Clarke decided to leave it. The discussion around Bellamy Blake was confusing her more than her recent bio chemistry lecture and that was alarming.</p><p>The night continued with a discussion of Conan’s fringe and outfit, with Niylah showing them all a photo of her when she was three and her mother insisted on cutting her hair. The resemblance was uncanny, and Clarke found herself feeling, for once, as if she had found some people she might actually enjoy spending time with.</p><p>The next morning Clarke was called into her career counsellors office for the second time and was met with a very unimpressed counsellor.</p><p>“I thought I told you that it was a requirement to join at least two clubs here Clarke.” Diana was dirty blonde and aging, and her office was full of inspirational posters and brightly coloured paper, but her piercing stare would have intimidated Clarke had she not been raised by Abby Griffin.</p><p>“I forgot.”</p><p>“You forgot.” Diana looked unimpressed.</p><p>“Look, Clarke, dorming here is pretty lonely for lots of our students. We strive to make sure that everyone feels welcomed and happy here. The club system is designed so that everyone has a place to go and feel valued.” Clarke felt vaguely nauseous at the amount of teen motivational books Diana seemed to have swallowed.</p><p>“With all respect Diana, I’ve got friends. I’m not an outgoing person and I don’t enjoy these sorts of activities, so its actually more beneficial for me to be around people I know in an environment of my choosing.” She gave Diana a winning smile that accomplished precisely nothing.</p><p>“If you’ll allow me to speak frankly Clarke, I think that’s bullshit. I’ve looked at your academic records and you were involved in all sorts of stuff in school until you were fifteen. You’re confident and savvy enough to sit here and argue with me about this stuff, which tells me that you haven’t got an introverted bone in your body.” Clarke felt undermined. Her mother must have contacted Diana. She knew it.</p><p>“Did my mom put you up to this?”</p><p>“Clarke, I’ve never spoken to your mother and whatever is going on between you two isn’t my priority. What is my priority is that you challenge yourself and step outside the box.”</p><p>Clarke pasted a fake smile on her face and nodded.</p><p>“Thanks for your help Diana, I really appreciate it.” Complimenting teachers always worked at her school. Nine times out of ten they’d back off if they’d thought they’d made a difference. Diana returned her smile.</p><p>“Nice try Clarke. Unfortunately, I actually have a vested interest in how you’re going to turn out so you can’t fob me off with that shit.”</p><p>Clarke scowled.</p><p>*     *             *            </p><p>They’d signed her up for Gardening and Art. Clarke was furious.</p><p>“I mean, they can’t just sign me up for shit like that. I have legal prerogative and agency.” Wells snorted into his chocolate milk.</p><p>“For fucks sake Clarke it’s college clubs, not an excursion to Gitmo.”</p><p>Clarke shot him an unimpressed glare, not appreciating his levity in the face of what she considered a great personal tragedy.</p><p>“I just don’t like other people. I don’t like forced interaction.” She sniffed, attempting to adopt a holier-than-thou expression. “It cheapens authentic connection.”</p><p>“Jeeeesus Christ, Clarke.” Monty shut the door behind him, kicking off his flaky Converse into the pile of shoes that had accumulated <em>next</em> to the <em>designated </em>shoe rack. Clarke had instigated a no-shoe policy after seeing the state of Niylah’s combat boots. They frequently looked as though they’d seen actual combat.</p><p>“Just admit you’re scared of people and get off that damn high horse.” He dumped the two pizza boxes on the counter, opening Clarke’s fridge with a familiarity that both irked her and warmed her heart.</p><p>Wells sniggered, then swore as he spilled milk down his shirt.</p><p>“I’m not-I’m not <em>scared</em> of people.” Clarke spluttered indignantly. “I won all my public speaking competitions in high school.”</p><p>Monty nodded, pointing his finger at her as he tipped some orange juice into a mug that read <em>If it requires a bra and leaving the house it’s just not going to happen today</em>. Her mom’s work friend Jackson, who sometimes acted like a favourite uncle when it suited him, had given it to Clarke last Christmas, to everyone’s general amusement. Clarke hadn’t found it funny, and had packed it to take to college with the express intention of accidentally knocking it off a bench one day.</p><p>“Public Speaking is a solo activity that requires personal excellence and pugnacious confidence.” He took a swig, ignoring Clarke’s offended gasp at the word <em>pugnacious</em>. “Whenever anything involves teamwork, you’re not interested.”</p><p>Clarke folded her arms, casting an arch look at Wells that she hoped communicated that she expected back up.</p><p>“You’ve known me for all of eight weeks and you’re willing to make that call?” Monty grinned at her but it was Wells who answered.</p><p>“Dude I could’ve said that same thing three minutes after I met you. Remember when you had a fit because your mom tried to dorm you with a roommate?”</p><p>“I did not <em>have a fit</em>-,“ Clarke rounded on Wells, fully intending to give him a piece of her mind, but Monty interrupted, speaking across her as if she wasn’t there.</p><p>“What did Diana put her into?”</p><p>“Gardening and Art. She’s acting like she’s been given a one-way ticket to a gulag.”</p><p>Monty whistled, and Clarke was momentarily diverted from attempting to tear Wells a new one.</p><p>“What was that? Why are you whistling? What do you know?”</p><p>Monty was grinning at her in a distinctly mischievous manner, doing nothing to set her at ease.</p><p>“I mean, it’s no gulag, but Bellamy Blake runs those clubs. He’s the coordinator. Ha! Good luck trying to convince him that mandatory participation cheapens authentic connection. That guy’s a drill sergeant in the making.”</p><p>Clarke felt a deep foreboding settle into her gut as she heard Wells let out an anticipatory <em>ooooooh</em> behind her.</p><p>“Huh. Well. You all might believe Bellamy Blake’s a genius but he’s never met me. My grandmother used to say that she never knew anyone as stubborn as me and she was a defence attorney.”</p><p>Clarke did not appreciate Monty and Wells’ matching nonplussed and entirely unimpressed expressions.</p><p>Monty raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips.</p><p>“Sure, Jan.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pumpkin Plants</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This-,” the kid assigned to introduce the club to the members sent them all individual stares, evidently trying to impart great importance. “-is a shovel.”</p>
<p>Clarke tried and failed to hide her snort.</p>
<p>It was a crisp Saturday morning, and Clarke was dressed in a hideous lime green t-shirt that read <em>Good Chives Only</em> across the chest in white, curly lettering. Wells had taken one look at it and promptly spilt his cereal all across the kitchen bench because he was laughing so hard. She’d tried to explain to him that this was her <em>uniform</em> and that she had <em>no choice in the matter</em> because DCU evidently operated on denying their students <em>basic human rights </em>and turning them into <em>laughing stock</em> in the same sentence, but he hadn’t listened, instead snapping a quick pic and posting it in the group chat.</p>
<p>The list of ensuing plant puns that her friends had responded with was disgusting.</p>
<p>Her protest against mandatory participation continued to find no sympathy with Niylah or Harper, with the former enthusiastically noting that she was also in Art club and would save Clarke a seat at the next meeting. Clarke thought privately that she’d probably spend more time untangling Niylah from whatever fresh hell she unleashed upon herself than doing any actual art, but considering she was aiming to do absolutely fuck all at her clubs, this would suit her fine.</p>
<p>Gardening Club only had about fifteen members, or at least the Saturday morning session did, but it was still a confronting amount of people for Clarke, who found dinner with Marcus and her mother overwhelming on a good day. The kid currently waving a pair of secateurs dangerously close to the students standing next to him rang a vague bell, and Clarke zoned out from his safety lecture while she tried to place where she’d seen him last. It was only when he finished his lecture and adjusted the pair of goggles fixed firmly onto his forehead that she realised she’d seen him playing around on the Quad over that past few weeks. He was one of the TonDC kids.</p>
<p>They moved away from the tools table and walked out of the shed as a group, Clarke bringing up the rear and acknowledging, grudgingly, that the shed was surprisingly well-stocked. A wall of seed packets caught her eye, all meticulously organised by alphabet and sowing season.</p>
<p>Whoever was in charge had Clarke’s approval. Probably one of the groundsmen. She couldn’t imagine a student would have enough time to keep something this tidy and organised.</p>
<p>Clarke realised that she’d lingered too long and hastily stepped outside, shielding her eyes against the bright sun. She heard general chatter in the direction of the veggie patch and tripped blindly forward, waiting for her eyes to get used to the light.</p>
<p>“<em>Watch the pumpkins!</em>” The voice was so ferocious that she didn’t immediately realise it was directed at her. Clarke blinked owlishly, the group coming into view. Every single member had turned and was staring at her. Heat flooded her face as she looked instinctively for the source of embarrassment. Was that admonishment directed at <em>her</em>? The chatter died as a tall, dark man circled the raised beds, and stomped towards her, silhouetted against the sun, faded flannel slapping severely across the breeze.</p>
<p>He came to a stop in front of her, half a head taller yet acting for all the world as if he was operating from a damn pedestal. Even though the flannel was long sleeved, her traitorous eyes informed her that his arms were impressively solid. The scent of fresh cut grass and warmth radiated from him and she averted her eyes, realising that she didn’t really want to know what this man looked like, because if he was as beautiful as her body was telling her he must be then she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover.</p>
<p>“Your foot is literally <em>on</em> the fucking pumpkin plant, dude.” His voice was deep, slow and sharp all at once, a staccato drawl reminiscent of Matthew McConaughey in one of those damn rom coms. Why was she thinking of Matthew fucking McConaughey? Clarke looked down, realised that she was indeed slowly strangling a pumpkin plant to death with her boot and withdrew her foot with a speed that nearly unbalanced her.</p>
<p>“S-sorry,” she hated how breathless her voice sounded, wished for the confidence that always eluded her. “I didn’t see it.”</p>
<p>He crossed his arms and she finally looked at him, forced herself to meet his gaze.</p>
<p>Her first thought was that of disappointment. All Clarke saw was the sharp lines of a deep scowl, roving brown skin, big dark eyes that seemed similar to flat black shark eyes, predator eyes.</p>
<p>Hardly an Adonis.</p>
<p>But then she kept looking, found herself mapping constellations from his freckles, realised that his shark eyes were in fact a deep, plummeting brown, the brown of warm leather or the bark of the redwood trees in California. His hair was long enough to brush his eyelids, matching his eyes in darkness, but tousled and occasionally curly, begging her for touch.</p>
<p>Ultimately it was his mouth that was her undoing, full lips shelving slightly over his teeth, the outline marked enough that it seemed as though God had drawn him with a sardonic smirk in mind. The single divot in his chin reminded her of a sculptor who might use their thumb to press an artist’s kiss to their masterpiece.</p>
<p>But then he spoke, and all the stars fell from her eyes.</p>
<p>“That’s patently obvious. Maybe next time you could use the eyes God gave you for free and avoid committing fucking bodily assault on my pumpkin plants.”</p>
<p>She huffed, trying and failing to recover from this verbal set down and wishing for both the immediate and painful demise of this beautiful boy and also that the earth might open up and she could find her resting place amongst his precious pumpkin plants.</p>
<p>But then Clarke opened her mouth, surprising herself, and even though she was pretty sure this was the worst idea she’d ever had, answered back.</p>
<p>“No offense,” she gritted her teeth, realising she was already managing to sound like a catty twelve-year-old, “but if they’re so important to you maybe you should think about not planting them in the middle of the path.”</p>
<p>This boy commanded such authority that she’d automatically assigned him control of the veggie garden – that and the fact he’d laid an actual claim to literal pumpkin plants – and she realised that she might be looking at the author of the shed. She did not feel inclined to compliment him and upon reflection reminded herself that there were several empty slots on the seed wall and that one of the panes in the window had been cracked. Clearly, he was running a shoddy ship.</p>
<p>He shot her a look that informed her that he thought she <em>was</em> in fact a catty twelve-year-old.</p>
<p>“They’re <em>pumpkin plants.</em> They grow, genius.”</p>
<p>She hadn’t noticed the audience they’d acquired, and was recalled back to reality through the goggled boy’s frantic attempts to wedge himself between them, friendly smile wobbling alarmingly.</p>
<p>“Bellamy, do you think maybe you could take the group on a tour of the veggie patch? I noticed the beetroots are looking…super healthy.”</p>
<p>Bellamy fucking Blake. At last. Clarke realised she wasn’t even surprised. Or maybe she was a little. She hadn’t expected DCU’s resident Puck to be wearing Blundstones and a flannel, or to have such a vested interest in the fate of a couple of stupid pumpkin plants. But the swagger, the complete lack of manners - that seemed spot on with the image she’d conjured of him in her head.</p>
<p>Bellamy Blake apparently decided that she wasn’t worth a fight, or maybe he was taking pity on the goggled boy, but after a long stare that he delivered to her, communicating clearly that he thought she was shit on his shoe, he took a step backwards and turned around, throwing a low “Follow me,” to the rest of the club. She noticed a few of the girls shooting her glowing looks, evidently thrilled at the public set down that she’d received from Bellamy Blake. Clarke didn’t want to admit it, but she understood. The face alone would have put him in the top tier of attractive guys at DCU. But the aura, the energy - even if it was communicated to her via outright condemnation – that propelled him to a class of his own.</p>
<p>The goggled boy hung back, and once the group was huddled around the veggie patch further down the path and out of earshot, he turned to her, lopsided apologetic smile revealing crooked and somewhat endearing teeth.</p>
<p>“Sorry about Bellamy. He’s a bit territorial.” Clarke resisted the urge to snap back ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ but bit her tongue, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.</p>
<p>“It’s fine. I should’ve been more careful, I guess.” She hoped the ‘I guess’ clearly communicated that she did not in fact think she should have been more careful.</p>
<p>The boy seemed to shrug off the comment, turning his smile to full beam.</p>
<p>“I’m Jasper Jordan. TonDC.”</p>
<p>He held out his hand, suddenly charmingly formal, and Clarke took it, feeling tentatively like the day might not turn out to be a dead loss.</p>
<p>“Clarke Griffin. Dropship.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*             *             *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And then he just, literally <em>glared </em>at me like I was shit on his shoe or something and just stomped away.” Clarke stabbed her stripey straw deeper into her orange juice, jostling the ice. “Ugh.”</p>
<p>Monty and Wells had come to meet her after club finished, both of them fresh out of IT, giggling about some ridiculous virus they’d set up that reprogrammed certain words to type out the entire script of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin. She’d stewed through their ten-minute-long explanation of intricate and frankly indecipherable coding, delivered through snorts of laughter, smouldering slowly at the fucking <em>audacity </em>of a certain member of Gardening club. It wasn’t until Wells had realised Clarke wasn’t listening (or laughing at the correct time) that she got an opportunity to vent.</p>
<p>Both of them were looking highly amused when Clarke finished.</p>
<p>“So Clarke, the sixty-four-million dollar question is, why did you step on his pumpkin plants?”</p>
<p>Wells snorted into his apple juice, Monty sliding him a shit-eating grin. Clarke frowned.</p>
<p>“Because they were in the middle of the path!”</p>
<p>“Sure Clarke. Maybe you just stepped on them so he’d come over and you could look at his arms.”</p>
<p>Maybe she’d spent too long describing him – but sue her, she liked to create mental pictures when she was telling people things!</p>
<p>“Yeah, tell us again how dark his eyes were and how lowwww his voice was.”</p>
<p>Clarke couldn’t help herself, breaking into a short giggle. So what if she thought he was hot, it wasn’t a ground breaking contribution. Even Wells conceded, as they walked towards the dining hall, that the reason he was only eighty percent sure he was straight was because of guys like Bellamy Blake.</p>
<p>And besides, she was a grown up. Or basically. She could admit someone was hot and still hate their guts. Like admiring the art of Picasso or reading enough of Hemingway to make meaningful contributions at the wine nights her mom tortured her through sometimes. She could admit someone was talented while also questioning the point of their existence. It was called nuance.</p>
<p>Niylah came rushing over as they waited in the line for the vegetarian lasagne the cooking club insisted on serving on Saturdays.</p>
<p>“So apparently you made a scene at club today, Clarke.”</p>
<p>Wells snorted.</p>
<p>“What the fuck.” Clarke was nonplussed. <em>She </em>hadn’t made a scene.</p>
<p>Niylah’s smile faltered for a second, worried she’d said something wrong.</p>
<p>“I mean it’s just that Sterling told me that Mimi told him that Angel told her that Bellamy Blake totally yelled in your face and you literally started crying.”</p>
<p>Clarke was many things, but a crybaby was not one of them.</p>
<p>“Oh my god I’m going to kill him.” She could feel the burn of humiliation stinging at the back of her throat. This was why she wasn’t fucking interested in mandatory participation.</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s not necessarily Bellamy’s fault,” Monty pointed out reasonably, watching like a hawk as his lunch was served. “Rumours spread fast – can you just give me that corner bit as well….thanks – rumours spread fast when he’s involved.”</p>
<p>“Yeah but I didn’t <em>fucking</em> cry.” Clarke spoke through gritted teeth, glaring so ferociously at the serving lady that she ended up with far too much lasagne.</p>
<p>They walked to a table by the corner of the hall, soaked in sunshine from the sky-high windows and comfortably removed from the hustle and bustle of the buffet.</p>
<p>Clarke started to eat her lasagne in silence, wondering if the whole school thought she was as ridiculous as she apparently sounded. But she didn’t notice anyone looking at her more than normal, and reluctantly started to enjoy herself as she got drawn into a heated debate on the merits of Heath Ledger’s Joker versus Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker.</p>
<p>“Yeah but the whole point of the Joker is that he’s unique – he’s meant to be terrifying and smart and like totally not engaged in normal human stuff – and Heath Ledger’s Joker did that.” Wells talked through a mouthful of salad, but Clarke was nodding along anyway.</p>
<p>Monty looked unconvinced.</p>
<p>“Miller’s Joker was a class commentary,” he began, and the whole table groaned. “What?! It’s fucking true.”</p>
<p>“You can do class commentary for any film. You could do class commentary on Finding Nemo. Literally Gotham is a class commentary by its very existence. The whole point of Joker is that he doesn’t have any motives or morals. He’s meant to be ultimately unpredictable. Honestly having an origin story for any supervillain is dumb but especially dumb for the Joker.” Clarke raised her eyebrows and took an exaggerated bite of her salad, staring a challenge back at Monty. Wells laughed.</p>
<p>“Plus, Heath Ledger’s just so hot.”</p>
<p>Clarke turned around at the new voice and found herself looking at one of the more striking girls she’d ever seen. She swallowed her mouthful quickly, but she didn’t have a chance to say anything before the girl was hoisting herself across the bench and sliding into a seat beside her.</p>
<p>“I’m Octavia.” She held out her hand to shake and Clarke was reminded of Jasper. Jasper who’d been playing tennis soccer with a bunch of kids from TonDC weeks ago. That’s where she’d seen this girl.</p>
<p>Clarke took it, smiling, experiencing slight whiplash and sending a glance at Wells, who shrugged.</p>
<p>“I heard my brother made you cry today.” Monty choked.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Clarke paused for a minute, scrambling to say something, still holding hands with this incredibly hot girl who appeared to have no social skills whatsoever.</p>
<p>Then Octavia cracked a smile, reminding Clarke forcibly of a baby monkey who’d just done something naughty. The intimidating good looks melted away slightly, and Clarke remembered to breathe.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I don’t care if he did or not. Point is, he’s really pissing me off lately because I want to date this guy called Lincoln, who’s like not even ten years older than me so I don’t know w<em>hat</em> Bellamy’s problem is but he’s being a massive pain in the actual asshole about it so I’ve decided to make friends with you because people are saying he yelled at you in club and therefore you sound like the perfect person to have around because it will shit him and that’s all I want to do at the moment.” She dropped Clarke’s hand, smiling again, like this was all a big joke, and took a massive bite from her lasagne, apparently unfazed by the silent table. Vaguely, Clarke noticed that her manners were even worse than Wells.</p>
<p>“Um.” She cast a wild look around the rest of the table, but they looked as weirded out as she felt.</p>
<p>Finally, Monty, who had more experience with other people than the rest of them did, cleared his throat and asked Octavia about Lincoln. This seemed to go down well, because the girl was off on another tangent, and Clarke could relax.</p>
<p>Octavia stayed for the whole lunch. Clarke was waiting for her to get up and leave, presuming that if this was all a symbolic gesture to get back at her brother she’d walk away after she was finished eating.</p>
<p>But Octavia stayed. Stayed and joined the debate on the table with alacrity, immediately taking Clarke’s side, which she thought was strategic at first but realised was actually a well-reasoned position. Octavia argued so well that even Monty shut up at the end.</p>
<p>Clarke expected her to leave once they were all done, making moves to go back to Clarke’s room and watch their weekly movie. But Octavia stayed. Clarke was beginning to realise that Octavia didn’t lack social skills, she just wasn’t interested in them.</p>
<p>“Where are you guys going now?” She was looking expectantly at Clarke, who froze, not entirely sure she wanted Octavia at the movie night, feeling ever so slightly as though she’d been wrung out and left to dry.</p>
<p>But Wells was Wells.</p>
<p>“We’re going back to Clarke’s to watch a movie. What is it this week Niylah?”</p>
<p>Niylah, Clarke had realised, had fallen hard and fast for Octavia, and tripped over her words and her feet as they walked through the Quad.</p>
<p>“We-we’re gonna watch Fate of the Furious.”</p>
<p>“That’s the eighth one right? I literally cried so hard when Paul what’s-his-face died.”</p>
<p>Wells silently mouthed <em>Walker,</em> looking pained.</p>
<p>“Okay cool. What’s your dorm number, Clarke?” Clarke jumped, realised that Octavia was definitely going to come to movie night and not really knowing how to feel about it.</p>
<p>“6113. Dropship.”</p>
<p>Octavia smiled again, and Clarke’s insides turned over, and then the other girl was off, running across the Quad and shouting hello at two separate groups of students who all waved a friendly hello back.</p>
<p>“Reckon she knows everyone on campus?” Wells muttered. Monty snorted.</p>
<p>“Everyone knows Octavia Blake.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I re-watched the Dark Knight over the weekend and had some thoughts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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